Chapter 493 Breaking Through the Script

Chapter 493 Breaking Free from the Script

“Hmm, it doesn’t matter anymore.” Wu Hang’s voice was flat and detached. The five words drifted lightly from his lips—devoid of fluctuation, hesitation, or excess emotion.

Beyond those five words, he said nothing more.

Lian Xiangyu stood to the side, his expression torn between calm and anguish, his heart churning uncontrollably. His body reacted violently the instant Wu Hang’s words fell. The power within him surged and roiled wildly—as if struck by volatile emotions—growing increasingly chaotic and unmanageable.

Before entering the Nightmare World as a player, Lian Xiangyu had been nothing more than a wealthy playboy drifting on life’s fringes—drowning daily in street racing, extravagance, and fleeting romantic entanglements. His family’s wealth and status had once been his sole source of pride. Yet precisely because of this cavalier attitude toward life, his father had abandoned hope in him early on, shifting his expectations entirely onto his younger brother.

Perhaps, in everyone’s eyes, no matter what decisions the family made—or what stance they took toward him—it wouldn’t affect Lian Xiangyu’s life of indulgence and revelry. All anyone saw was his death-defying madness tearing down suburban highways, his existence wholly anchored in the present, utterly unconcerned with the future—and they admired his “carpe diem” philosophy, living more freely and joyfully than even an immortal.

But perhaps, deep down, Lian Xiangyu wasn’t truly indifferent.

Human emotions are profoundly complex.

So sometimes—even Lian Xiangyu himself couldn’t tell whether he cared, or why he felt so conflicted.

Someone close to him had once told him that his inner struggle stemmed from a sliver of lingering hope for his family. Yet time and again, those hopes met only disappointment—leaving him trapped in a one-sided battle between loss and resentment.

Especially after becoming a player in the Nightmare World—gaining power surpassing many of his peers, and even laying the foundations of his own organization—leaving his hometown of Honghuai City to establish a base elsewhere. If he wished, Lian Xiangyu could easily amass immense wealth and influence in the real world. He was no longer that aimless third-generation heir—but a formidable individual capable of building his own kingdom in reality, no longer dependent on his parents’ support or approval.

Under such circumstances, should Lian Xiangyu still care about his family’s attitude?

Perhaps, in his own view, he shouldn’t.

Yet when he heard Wu Hang utter those five words—“Hmm, it doesn’t matter anymore”—scenes from the past exploded in his mind. He remembered his father’s cold, almost disdainful gaze; his mother’s indifferent eyes; his younger brother’s contemptuous smile. In that vast, empty home, he lived as if invisible. No matter how hard he tried, his parents’ attention never settled on him—it always remained fixed elsewhere.

They were a family living under one roof—yet no one ever looked at him.

They were a family living under one roof—yet his parents were always laughing and talking with his brother. Even when he desperately sought their attention—even when he smiled, even when he reached out—they simply brushed past him, indifferent.

They were clearly a family living together—so why… why wouldn’t anyone look at him?

Does it *really*, *really* not matter anymore?

“Does it really not matter anymore?” Lian Xiangyu lowered his head, murmuring softly—as if questioning himself, yet also confirming the turmoil within.

Su Bai, standing nearby, felt a flicker of surprise. He’d just noticed Lian Xiangyu’s arm beginning to change—muscles swelling, skin shifting toward a Beast Form, claw-like nails faintly emerging. Yet the next second, those abnormal changes reverted completely to human form. And the previously rampant power surging within Lian Xiangyu had now stilled—calm as a windless lake.

In that moment, doubt stirred in Su Bai’s heart. This sudden fluctuation of power and emotion seemed to herald something profound. He sensed faintly that the Lian Xiangyu before him was undergoing a fundamental transformation.

Could it be…

Su Bai harbored a growing suspicion.

“I still… can’t bear this feeling of abandonment, can I?” Lian Xiangyu slowly raised his head, a bitter smile surfacing. His eyes held struggle and reluctance—and, simultaneously, direct confrontation and quiet compromise with his inner self. “Father—I’ve changed my mind. I think I should honor my word. Since Shen Donger and I have long held a marriage contract, I intend to fulfill it.”

“Huh?” Shen Donger—who had just been instinctively savoring the drama—was utterly taken aback, bewildered as to how this sudden twist had landed squarely on her. Stunned into momentary silence, she blinked in confusion, staring blankly at Lian Xiangyu, unable to grasp the abrupt shift before her.

“…” Beneath his cloak, Wu Hang tilted his head slightly upward—but offered no reply.

“Xiangyu, what are you saying?” Ning Yi’s face registered disbelief, her eyes deep with hurt and shock. Her acting skills rivaled those of the finest performers—instantly embodying disappointment and confusion to perfection, as if Lian Xiangyu were peeling away her heart layer by layer.

“Yeah—what *exactly* are you saying?” Shen Donger echoed, equally stunned, blinking in bewilderment and stammering, “I… should I be… happy now?”

“It’s nothing.” Lian Xiangyu raised a hand to brush his cheek, forcing a somewhat spirited smile as he turned to face Shen Donger. “I just suddenly regained my memory—remembering those… happy times we shared.”

Su Bai stood to the side, observing the scene unfold. The suspicion in his heart gradually hardened into certainty. He was now sure: in that recent surge of emotion and power, Lian Xiangyu had broken free from the script’s control—triggered by some unseen catalyst.

It appeared the script’s control in this game was not an airtight, flawless trap.

This nightmare, seemingly inescapable, always held a thread of hope.

“Sorry—I’m not exactly ideal marriage material,” Lian Xiangyu shook his head at Ning Yi. “Miss Ning is outstanding. You’ll surely meet someone far more exceptional and worthy than me in the future. So—do you really want to trade the vast, boundless ocean for a small indoor swimming pool?”

“…” Ning Yi—still bound by the script—seemed momentarily short-circuited.

“But—but you said even if you regained your memory, you’d still hate me!” Shen Donger widened her eyes. Her expression bore no trace of joy—only the dazed disappointment of a dream shattered: the fantasy of handsome men from across the world lining up to comfort her after heartbreak, now vanished.

“People come together through feelings—but that doesn’t necessarily mean love,” Lian Xiangyu smiled again as he looked at Shen Donger. “I remember everything now. I remember all the places we’ve been—together. We’re definitely compatible teammates.”

Only then did Su Bai realize: both Lian Xiangyu and Shen Donger were players from Honghuai City. Their appearance in Qingliu City wasn’t unusual—but appearing *together* in Qingliu City… likely meant they’d been traveling together since leaving the Luolimasi Grand Hotel.

Romantically, perhaps they couldn’t be together—even mutually averse.

But as players, they might well have found genuine common ground.